The Bunker
by SpiderFangWolverine123
Summary: "The floor of the bunker was cool against Murphy's cheek. It was a nice distraction from the painful way his wrists were bound behind his bare back. From the way his knees had gone numb from kneeling on the floor for hours on end. From how much it hurt to breathe." Hurt/comfort that's heavy on hurt and comfort, in which Murphy is held captive and then rescued by Bellamy and crew.


Hello, all! Just another shameless whump session with one of my favorite characters, Murphy.

The setting isn't established super clearly in the story (because I really didn't care, I just wanted a scenario where Murphy gets the tar beat out of him and the whole gang gets to find/heal him) but it's roughly set after the whole nuclear meltdown at the end of season 4. The five years go by, everyone ends up back aboveground, but Murphy and Emori were stuck in a torture bunker with Ontari and some of her grounder goons.

Seriously dark stuff follows here, including graphic torture and mentions of sexual abuse, so if you aren't about that stuff, feel free to check out some of my tamer stories. Otherwise, have a grand time and feel free to leave a review letting me know what you think. (ya girl loves praise) ;)

* * *

**The Bunker**

* * *

The floor of the bunker was cool against Murphy's cheek. It was nice, he decided. A pleasant break from the fiery ache that bloomed across his face every time he shifted. Also a nice distraction from the painful way his wrists were bound behind his bare back. From the way his knees had gone numb from kneeling on the floor for hours on end. From how much it hurt to breathe.

Those things were unpleasant. Distinctly not nice. So Murphy chose to ignore them, focus instead on the icy chill of the bunker floor against his face. Cooling, soothing. Gentle. Murphy closed his eyes, relishing in the idea of gentle. Of kind. Of nice.

Deep in the recesses of the bunker, a door opened. Murphy heard the ancient creaking echoing throughout. He felt it reverberate in his bones. It was opened roughly, angrily, and this was how Murphy knew his day was about to lose all the niceness about it.

What a shame. He'd been enjoying himself so much.

Once upon a time, he might have hoped that it would be one of her lackey's coming for him. Maybe Utaro, or Tike. Even Yarro, despite the fact that Yarro seemed to enjoy the concept of pointless pain the most. There was a special spot in Hell reserved for that man, Murphy knew. Just a few fire pits away from his own.

But no, it would not be one of her lackey's coming for him. It would almost certainly be her. Because there was no one left to send for him. Not after three days ago, when she finally killed Tike, efficiently finishing off the last of her guards.

Murphy would never understand why she did it. Maybe her bloodlust was just too hard to contain. Down here, with a limited victim pool, there was only so long that she could control it. Maybe she was just bored. Nor would he ever understand why the guard just let her kill them. Loyal to the end, those lot. Although, who was he to talk? He'd never known anything of loyalty.

Footsteps approached his cell, the echoes making them sound like an army, and his body almost involuntarily seized with terror. His skin feared the lashings, his bones the beatings that would soon follow. His heart feared the moments she would look for intimacy. His soul feared he wouldn't be strong enough to keep resisting. Murphy himself wasn't afraid anymore. There was nothing new she could do to him, no new low that she could drag him to. Although he was sure that she would try.

The door to his cell opened loudly, banging against the far wall with a sound like a gunshot, and Murphy couldn't stop the flinch that rocked his whole body. His face was positioned away from the door, just the way she had left him last time, and he dared not move, lest he make her more angry. Best to just live through whatever she had planned for him. Survive, nothing more.

John Murphy, ever the cockroach.

There was a stunned gasp, and a new kind of fear gripped him when he realized that the voice was too low to be hers. It was a man's voice. Real fear flooded his body, the kind of fear he hadn't felt in about five years. Fear of the unknown.

"Hey, are you alright?" The words were hushed, but Murphy still recognized the voice, even after all this time.

"Hey, guys, I need some help! We got a wounded person in here!" Bellamy turned and shouted out into the corridor. Murphy flinched, and felt tremors run over his skin. It was Bellamy. Here. In the bunker.

Heavy boots thudded over the floor, and all of the hairs on Murphy's neck rose up as he felt Bellamy crouch near him. "Hey," Bellamy said again. "Just stay calm, okay? My friends are on their way; we can help you."

Murphy wasn't sure that he had the strength to respond, trying as he was to lift his head up, but when he felt the hand on his shoulder, he jerked away, panicked breaths bursting from his lungs at the unexpected touch. He heard Bellamy talking in a low voice, trying to calm him down, thankfully not touching him anymore.

More boots entered his cell, and he heard low exclamations of disgust. Whether they were upset about the state of him or the overall smell of the place, Murphy wasn't quite sure. One of the men came closer and pulled Bellamy away. They conferred quietly, their voices too soft for Murphy to make out.

"Well, let's just get him uncuffed first," The guard decided, and Murphy was surprised to recognize the warm but firm tones of Sgt. Miller. What a small world.

Someone stepped up behind him and pulled out a knife. Murphy instinctually tensed, every muscle quivering as he waited for the knife to fall. There was a slice as the blade cut through the thick rope binding his hands, and then the guardsman stepped away. Murphy winced as the ropes fell away and he was free for the first time in weeks. He let his hands drop from their position against his spine, and couldn't hold in the cry as his stiff shoulders protested.

"Okay, boys, let's help him up," Sgt. Miller ordered.

Bellamy stepped over him, and Murphy caught sight of him for the first time. His hair was shorter, just brushing the tip of his ears, and a light shadow of hair dotted his jaw. Murphy knew that his own facial hair was nothing to be proud of. She'd hated for it to be long, so every now and again she'd just hack most of it off with whatever knife she had laying around.

The two guardsmen crouched on either side of him, each taking hold of one of his arms. Bellamy quietly counted to three, and then they tried to pull him up to his feet. Instantly, Murphy let out a cry of pain. His shoulders, his ribs, his goddamn toes exploded with agony when they tried to move him. Bellamy and the other guard set him back down.

Murphy sat still, panting quietly, trying to get the pain back under control. He felt Bellamy looking at him strangely, in confusion.

"Okay, okay, easy, lads. Just let him be for a moment," Sgt. Miller said in a calm voice. "We'll try again in a second. We'll have a gurney ready for him once we get out of this place."

"Hold on, Sergeant," Bellamy said. He reached down to where Murphy's forehead was pressed against the floor again. He brushed some of the grimy hair to the side, and Murphy rolled his face to the side so that Bellamy could see him. Bellamy's eyes widened with shock and horror.

"Murphy?"

Murphy tried to summon the energy for one of his famous quips, but his mouth was too dry for anything more than a raspy whistle, and for once in his life, he had nothing smart to say. So he settled for an exhausted nod.

"Oh my god," Bellamy fumbled for the canteen at his side, and for the first time that he could remember, Murphy hoped that it was water instead of booze. Bellamy pulled the lid off and moved it toward Murphy's lips, but Sgt. Miller put a hand out to stop him.

"Bellamy, wait," He ordered. "We have to wait until we get him back to base and he can be checked out before we give him anything."

"He needs water," Bellamy said firmly, pushing the Sergeant's hand away and cupping Murphy's face, helping him hold his chin up to drink the water. The rush of lukewarm water into his mouth was the most wonderful thing that Murphy had ever felt, and he lurched forward, wanting to chug the whole canteen as quickly as he could. Bellamy pulled back, forcing him to swallow first, before moving the mouthpiece back to give him another sip.

"Dammit, Bellamy," Sgt. Miller hissed. "We can't afford to waste resources on him if he isn't going to make it anyway."

"Dad!" The other guardsman said sharply, and Murphy noticed that it was Miller. The young one.

"I don't care," Bellamy retorted, staring the Sergeant in the eyes.

Bellamy put the canteen away when Murphy had finished half its volume, which was probably a good thing. Given the opportunity, Murphy would have chugged the water until he was sick to his stomach.

Sgt. Miller sighed. "Well, let's try to get him up. The only way we're going to get him out of here is if he walks or we carry him."

"Over my dead body," Murphy rasped, and he was almost surprised to find out that his voice still worked after so long.

"So you can still talk," Bellamy sounded relieved. "Here I was hoping I'd get a couple more hours of silence."

"If only you'd be so luck-" Murphy broke off into a bout of coughing that set his ribs on fire.

"We've got to get him back to base," Miller said urgently, looking at his father.

Sgt. Miller nodded. "Give it another go, then. Just ease him up slow."

Bellamy crouched again by Murphy's side and pulled his arm over Bellamy's shoulders. Miller crouched by his other side and followed suit. Both of them wound arms around his waist and lifted at the same time. They managed to get him up to his feet, but Murphy was not sure at all that he could stay that way.

"Can you walk?" Bellamy asked him.

Murphy just pushed him away in response. He mustered his strength and took a step forward, almost immediately falling on his face as his knee buckled. Bellamy caught him before he fell too far, helping him balance.

"Dammit," Murphy said, frustrated at his weakness.

"It's fine, Murphy," Bellamy said. "Just lean on me, okay?"

Gritting his teeth, Murphy allowed Bellamy to pull his arm over his shoulder, easing some of the weight. Murphy limped forward, his legs sore and protesting from disuse. It was slow going, out into the hallway, down towards the long ladder that would take them up to the surface. His arms shook at the very thought of that ladder. If he could hardly stand on his own, how was he supposed to make it up a ladder?

"We all thought you were dead." Bellamy's voice cut through his thoughts. "You and Emori." The name was like a stab to the chest.

"We would have been better off dead," Murphy whispered, more to himself than Bellamy. But he could tell that Bellamy heard him anyway.

"I don't understand," Bellamy said after a moment. "How did you two end up here? Murphy, what the hell happened to you?"

Murphy opened his mouth to answer, when a sudden thought struck him. He'd been so shocked by the rescue and reunion, he never stopped to think about the threat that was still out there.

"Ontari," He said sharply, stumbling to a stop. "Did you find her?"

"Ontari? What about Ontari?"

"She's….She's the one that kept us here."

"I thought Ontari was dead."

Murphy closed his eyes and shook his head. "She was hurt….but she didn't die." _Unfortunately. _

"We'll keep an eye out for her," Bellamy promised. "There are other guardsmen searching this place. If she's here, we'll find her." He paused. "Where's Emori?"

Murphy opened his mouth to speak and found that his throat had closed. "She's gone." He finally choked out.

"Gone? Are you-"

"She's dead, Bellamy," Murphy barked. "Ontari had her killed three years ago."

"Jesus…" Bellamy was silent for a moment. "How-"

Murphy shoved Bellamy away, strengthened by a surge of anger, and leaned against the wall for balance and support. "You want to know _how_ she died, Bellamy? Ontari ordered the guards to kill her. After I begged her to stop, for the first time in almost two years, I begged her to stop, and she ordered the guards to kill Emori. They beat her to death, and I heard her screaming for me, two floors down, screaming for hours and hours until finally it stopped."

"Murphy-"

"I didn't believe that she was really dead until they brought me her hand. The one that she always kept wrapped up so no one else would see it. They cut it off her and brought it up and Ontari left it in my room to rot so that I could see it, watch it decompose and remember that the same thing was happening to the rest of her in some dark corner of this hellhole!"

"Murphy!" Bellamy placed his hands on Murphy's shoulders. "I was going to ask how the hell you survived."

Murphy didn't respond, just closed his eyes and let his head fall against the iron walls. Bellamy sighed. "Let's just get you to the surface, okay?"

"Sergeant! Bellamy!" One of the guardsmen called from further down the hallway, by the staircase that went downstairs. "We found a grounder!"

"Did you apprehend them?" Sgt. Miller asked.

"Um… Didn't need to, sir. They were already unconscious when we got there. They look to be in pretty bad shape, sir."

Murphy frowned. "But Ontari killed the last guard days ago. She's the only one left."

Bellamy called back to the guard. "Male or female?"

"Female."

Murphy's eyes snapped open, and he gabbed Bellamy's uniform tightly. "It has to be Ontari."

"Was she injured when you last saw her?" Bellamy questioned.

"There are lots of ways to hurt yourself in this place." Murphy said dryly. "Maybe she just tripped over one of the knives that she left lying around."

"Bring her up." Sgt. Miller called back to the guardsman, who nodded and descended the stairs again.

Murphy resisted as Bellamy tried to guide him toward the exit at the end of the hallway. "C'mon, Murphy," Bellamy said. "Let them take care of Ontari."

"I want to make sure she's dead," Murphy said in a flat voice.

"She isn't-"

"Then she will be soon."

In only a few moments, the guardsman came back up the stairs holding an unconscious woman in his arms. Murphy's eyes ran over the woman's rags, patched and sewn together. He saw her hair, bunched in dreadlocks and braided together. Then he saw the arm hanging down, moving with every step the guardsman took. The arm with no hand.

His body lurched forward, pulling away from Bellamy with a frantic desperation. He could hear his voice yelling her name, but it all became a muffled echo in his ears. Bellamy grabbed at his arms, called his name, tried to get his attention, but Murphy only had eyes for Emori.

"Get off me, let go!" Murphy struggled as Bellamy got a hold of his arms. "I have to go to her, that's Emori, please, Bellamy, it's Emori, let me go!"

"I know, I know," Bellamy said, holding Murphy's arms behind him in double arm bar. He had one arm wrapped around his chest, and his mouth was right next to Murphy's ear. "Just calm down, Murphy, okay? You're hurt, and if you're not careful, you're going to pass out and leave us to drag your unconscious ass out of this place. So take it easy."

"As soon as you let me go." Murphy agreed through gritted teeth. Bellamy released him, holding his hands up, and Murphy stumbled quickly toward the guardsman, who watched him approach warily.

The guardsman walked forward the last few steps to meet Murphy, and Murphy nearly collapsed in relief as he looked down at Emori. She was nearly emaciated, her lips dry and cracked. Her skin was coated in muck and grime and covered in a patchwork of bruises. But she was alive. He reached down, thumb brushing over the tattoo that wound around her eye.

His breath stole from his lungs in a seizing that made him wonder if he was crying. Tears blinded him as a smile spread across his face. The first in five years. He felt hands on his shoulders. Bellamy, pulling him back toward the exit.

Murphy refused to leave her side, even for a moment. They made their way to the exit, and Miller offered to go up first with Emori. The guardsman passed her to him, and Sgt. Miller used a length of rope to secure her waist to Miller's. Murphy had to look away as they tied the knot, the memory of rope against his own skin all too fresh in his mind.

Once Miller was up, Bellamy nudged Murphy towards the ladder. "I'll be right behind you." He promised. "There will be people up top to help you get out."

Murphy nodded and placed his hands on the rungs. He stepped up the first, and for a moment, he wasn't sure that he could go up again. But he reached up to the next one. Hand, hand, foot, foot. Up to Emori.

The sunlight above was blinding. All he could see were vague shapes, outlines of human beings. It smelled like outside, like freedom. He just had to make it up a few more steps and he'd be free of it, of her, forever. Except he'd never be free of the memories.

"_I could never leave behind my plaything." _

Hand, hand, foot, foot. Murphy slipped for a moment, felt Bellamy reach up and push his foot back onto the rung. Up. Up. Up.

"_If you do everything I say, I won't hurt her. Say anything, disobey me for even a moment, and I will split her open." _

The final few rungs approached, and Murphy had to look down to avoid burning his eyes. The heat washed over him, like being engulfed in a fire. After so long in the dark and damp, it seemed the cockroach was no longer a creature meant for the light.

"_Enjoy it, John. Most men would. And it won't be long before you're wishing that this was all I did to you." _

He felt hands grab his arms and haul him up as he reached the final rungs, and he was lifted up and out of the hole in the ground. They set him down on the grass and Murphy laid still, with his arm over his eyes, unable to muster the strength to stand back up. He heard Bellamy exit and crouch next to him.

Murphy pulled the arm off his eyes and squinted up at Bellamy. "Where next, chief?" Murphy asked with some of his old sarcasm, pushing up to his elbows.

"Nowhere, for you." Bellamy said, putting a hand on Murphy's shoulder.

Murphy looked over and saw Emori a few feet away, being deposited onto a makeshift stretcher made of tent fabric and poles. He looked up at Bellamy with a disbelieving expression.

"How about, hell no?" Murphy said.

Bellamy shook his head. "Murphy, it's another ten miles back to base, and in case you hadn't noticed, you aren't exactly in peak physical condition."

Murphy chuckled and devolved into a fit of coughs, ending with a wince as his ribs protested. Bellamy looked pointedly at him.

Murphy nodded tiredly, laying back and placing his arm over his eyes again. "Point taken."

Even with the murmur of people around him, Murphy felt himself relax into the soft earth, feeling the sun touch his skin, warm parts of him that had been cold for years. The light was still overwhelming, but the warmth… He could get used to that. He felt comfortable. Happy, now that he found Emori was alive. Safe, despite being surrounded by strangers.

Suddenly, hands touched his shoulders, wrapped around his ankles. Murphy's eyes snapped open, and he lunged away from the confining hands. There were shouts as the people tried to hold him down, and Murphy snarled, fighting and shoving against their hands. It was a trap, it had all been a trap, and he'd fallen for it, like an idiot, he'd _trusted _them-

"Murphy, it's okay!" Bellamy cried out. "Let him go, everybody, just stop!"

The hands disappeared, and Murphy rolled to his side, catching his breath. The thrashing set all of his injuries on fire, and he drew his knees up to his chest to try and ease some of the hurt. The panic still rolled over him in waves, making it hard to slow his breathing and ease his heart.

"Murphy…" Bellamy kneeled next to his head. "We thought you were sleeping… We didn't want to wake you. We didn't mean to startle you, okay? We just need to get you on the stretcher."

Murphy opened his eyes and looked up at Bellamy. Bellamy met his gaze evenly. After a moment, Murphy nodded, and Bellamy sighed, looking relieved. He reached down and clasped hands with Murphy, pulling him up to a sitting position.

"Do you want us to help you stand up? Or we can lift-"

"Jesus, I can move my own ass, Bellamy," Murphy retorted. "Just put it down next to me."

Bellamy nodded and grabbed one end of the stretcher as Miller grabbed the other. They moved the stretcher over so that it was next to Murphy. Murphy shifted on top of the stretcher. He laid back slowly, centering himself on the cot.

Bellamy nodded, taking position by Murphy's head. Miller grabbed the other end, and on the count of three, they lifted. Murphy felt his heart jolt a little at the feeling of being up in the air, at the complete mercy of others.

"I can trust you not to drop me, right?" Murphy asked Bellamy, looking up at him. "At least not on purpose?"

Bellamy offered a half smile. "We'll see."

Murphy heard the order to move out, and the stretcher was soon moving, with Miller in the lead. They fell in next to Emori, and Murphy could glance over at her to see she was okay. The other guardsmen came out of the bunker, and merged with the rest of the crowd. Before long they were quickly making their way through the woods.

"That doesn't answer my question."

* * *

The cool night air, darkness of the setting sun, and rocking motion of the stretcher slowly lulled Murphy into a kind of half sleep. He could hear the people around him, but it didn't really register to him. Not in the same way that he recognized the jacket that had been placed under his head to serve as a pillow, the tent cover someone had draped over him when he'd started shivering.

It was an odd feeling, not to hurt anymore. Not in the way that he had no pain, because he did. Everything hurt and everything ached and he had plenty of wounds that loved to make themselves known. And yet, none of them hurt as terribly as they had before, simply because there were people around him trying to ease his pain. Trying to make the hurt go away.

"_Oh, John, does it hurt?" _

Even now, when they believed him asleep, they spoke in hushed voices, those closest around him whispering to one another to try and let him sleep. It was more simple kindness than he'd experienced from anyone in ages, and it was hard to process.

"_Good. It's supposed to." _

Every once in a while, one of his eyes opened, looked to his right, where Emori's cot was. Sometimes it was a little ahead of his, sometimes a little behind. It drifted closer and then further away. But it was always there. And she was always breathing. He always watched long enough to be sure of that.

"_It's either the pain or the pleasure, Johnny. And you only get to pick one." _

There was a ripple through the ranks, and they slowed, coming to a stop. Murphy opened his eyes and lifted his head, looking up at Bellamy in confusion.

"Why are we stopping?"

"We're here," Bellamy answered. "It'll just take a minute for them to let us all through."

A call traveled from the front, mouth to mouth until it reached them at the back. "Let the wounded through first." The crowd parted, moving aside to allow the stretchers to the front, and then fell in behind them, slowing moving toward the entrance.

"All this fuss for me, huh?"

Bellamy smirked. "Don't get used to it."

"You're telling me this isn't a permanent arrangement? I was really enjoying the thought of you being at my beck and call."

"Yeah, shut up, Murphy."

The stretchers made their way to the entrance, and Murphy saw that they were entering a fortress that looked much like the old Arkadia, minus the giant piece of spaceship looming over everything. A sign over the entrance said "New Arkadia" in giant welded letters.

Bright lights glared down on them as they approached, and Murphy felt his unease rise at so many staring people. He saw people that he knew, people he recognized, all staring at him and Emori as they were carried through. Bellamy and Miller paid no attention to the gawking crowd and brought the two stretchers up to the entrance of a giant tented area, where a rough building had been erected.

One of the guards standing by the doors held up a hand. "Who are these two?"

"Citizens of Arkadia," Bellamy said firmly. "We're bringing them to the Medbay."

The guard eyed them suspiciously for a moment before stepping aside and letting them through. Murphy could hardly blame them. The two guardsmen carrying Emori went in first, and the guard by the door held open the curtain to let them pass.

They walked into the Medbay, and found two cots near each other. Bellamy and Miller placed Murphy down in the one on the right, and Emori was placed next to him. Bellamy looked like he was about to say something to Murphy when he heard a burst of static from his shoulder com, turning away to listen.

Bellamy turned back after responding quietly. "They need me outside. You going to be okay here?"

"You know me, chief," Murphy quipped in a tired voice. "I'll make it somehow."

"Yeah, I bet you will."

He and Miller left, and Murphy was surprised to find that the Medbay was decently quiet. Considering there were only a few doctors and usually no huge medical emergencies, that made sense. But still, somehow he'd imagined more chaos.

Footsteps came up next to him, and Murphy looked over to see Jackson looking at the two of them. He smiled in greeting, and Murphy just nodded.

"Heard they found you two out there," Jackson said, walking in between their cots. "Got the call on the radio."

"Yep."

Jackson held up a small penlight. "You mind if I take a look at you?"

"Do what you gotta do."

Jackson had Murphy sit up and shined the light in Murphy's eyes, moving it back and forth. He took a look inside Murphy's mouth and ears, and felt along his throat. Murphy had to stop himself from flinging himself off the table as Jackson's fingers moved around his neck. It was like Murphy was waiting for the fingers to close, for the squeezing to start.

Jackson pulled back and told Murphy to lay down. He looked over the bruises decorating his torso, and frowned when he saw Murphy's side. "Okay, John, I need to feel here. Tell me if it hurts."

Jackson pressed a hand against Murphy's ribs, and a groan slipped through his clenched teeth. Jackson's probing fingers felt around for a few moments, and then he stepped back.

"I'm worried that you might have some broken ribs, John."

"You think?" Murphy said through a tight jaw, still breathing through the ache.

"I'm going to have Abby come over and take a look, see if there's anything that she thinks we can do to ease the pain. I'm mostly worried that one of those ribs could be pressing against your lungs."

"Fun."

Jackson ignored Murphy's sarcasm and moved over to look at Emori. He gently pulled open her eyelids and shined a light in her eyes, and felt her throat as well.

"How is she?" Murphy asked.

"Dehydrated. Malnourished. Looks like a concussion, too. She'll be okay, but I want to get an IV started as soon as we can."

Jackson motioned over to a few of the guards standing by the doors. He gestured to Emori, saying, "Could you two take her over to Recovery? Tell Embry she needs IV fluids and nutrients."

The guards nodded, and grabbed one of the stretchers piled up by the wall. Murphy sat up as they placed Emori on the stretcher and began to carry her out.

"Where are you taking her?" Murphy called. Jackson looked over at him quizzically.

"Just across the hall to Recovery, John. She'll be okay-"

"No," Murphy got off the cot, and Jackson protested, moving around the other cots. "You can't take her."

"John, it's okay, she's just going up for some fluids. There's nothing-"

"Then I'm going with her," Murphy said firmly, making to go around the cot and follow the two guards, who were moving again.

"You need to stay here, John, Abby will want-" Jackson grabbed Murphy's arm, and all hell broke loose.

Murphy yanked his arm away from Jackson, breaking into a hobbling run toward Emori and the guards. Jackson caught up with him after a step, placing his hands on Murphy's shoulders. Murphy turned and shoved Jackson back, unbalancing himself more than Jackson, but two more guards still noticed the fight and came forward.

One guard grabbed Murphy's arms behind his back, and Murphy threw his head back, hitting the guard squarely in the nose. His grip slackened, and Murphy surged forward again, only to be seized by the other guard, who twisted a hand into Murphy's hair to keep him from head butting again.

"Let go of me!" Murphy shouted, struggling in the guards iron grip. "Get off me, right now, I have to go with her, you don't understand, let go!"

"John, just calm-"

"Screw you, Jackson!" Murphy snarled, thrashing now not just to get to Emori, but to escape the confining arms that held him. There were more shouts from the other guard as he joined the first, trying to hold Murphy still. "Get the hell off me!"

Murphy saw someone approach from the side, holding a syringe in their hand, and his vision went fuzzy. His breath came in panicked bursts as he waiting for the sting of the needle in his neck. Jackson was trying to regain order, shouting to be heard over the chaos, but no one listened.

"Hey!" Bellamy roared from the entrance. Silence descended as everyone looked over at him. He noticed the guards holding Murphy and the needle inches from his neck. "The hell is going on in here?"

"He was attacking Jackson-"

"She only needed fluids, so I just told them-"

"We had to restrain him before he-"

The excuses and voices all overlapped, speaking over one another until no one could understand. Only Murphy didn't offer anything, closing his eyes to try and stay vertical as dizziness overtook him and stars burst behind his eyelids.

"Okay, easy," Bellamy made his way over to Murphy, gesturing for the other guards to release him. He helped Murphy back to the cot and had him sit. "Now, what happened?"

"They took her away and I had to go with her," Murphy whispered, eyes closed. "I couldn't leave her."

Bellamy sighed, pulling his hand off Murphy's shoulder. He turned to Jackson. "Can you give her the fluids here?"

"But we usually-"

"Jackson, can you?"

Jackson sighed. "Yes."

"Then just do it."

Jackson looked at the floor and nodded. "Understood."

"Good." Bellamy turned away, nearly bumping into Abby as she entered the Medbay.

"Where's John?" She demanded when she spotted Jackson, who gestured over to the cot where they'd placed Murphy. Abby walked over, placing her kit on the cot next to him.

"I'll go tell them to bring Emori and the IV supplies back down here," He said to Abby, who nodded absentmindedly as she rummaged through her bag.

Murphy watched her warily as she pulled things out of the bag and set them down next to her. Abby glanced up and noticed his suspicious stare.

"Good to see you, John," Abby said mildly. "Although I wish it weren't under these circumstances."

"C'mon, Abby, how else do we ever meet?" Murphy responded, shifting on the cot and wincing, holding a hand to his side.

"Speaking of, let me see your side." Abby had Murphy lay down on his other side, and she did the same thing that Jackson had done, with Murphy gritting his teeth as she pressed against his ribs. Then Abby pulled out a stethoscope and listened to Murphy's breathing.

"I don't see any of the signs of internal bleeding… We'll just have to keep an eye on it. If the pain gets worse, or the color of the bruise becomes darker, let us know, alright?"

Murphy nodded. "Sure thing, doc."

Abby placed a hand on Murphy's shoulder, her gaze falling to Murphy's back, which faced her as he laid on his side. Murphy felt her fingers brushing over the marks of abuse littered over his skin. Lashes from whips, deeper lacerations from knives, burns from hot irons. Ontari never failed to think up new ways to entertain herself.

Murphy winced as Abby touched a particularly tender wound, freshly delivered only a few days previously. Abby seemed to notice his discomfort, and she pulled away. "We'll need to get some antiseptic cream and bandages on that if you don't want it to get infected."

"Don't bother," Murphy said, sitting up and turning his back away from her. "I survived all the others just fine."

"Still, you'd hate for this one to be the one that gets you."

Abby walked away from his cot, over to the back of the room, where it seemed they had a small, rudimentary pharmacy set up. Abby said something to the person behind the counter, and when they turned, Murphy was surprised to see that it was Clarke. Her hair was shorter, pulled back away from her face, and there was less stress and worry lining her face than he remembered. Maybe she finally decided to leave the decision making to somebody else.

Clarke reached below the counter and handed something to her mother. As Abby was walking back up toward them, Jackson rushed back into the room. "Abby!" He called sharply. "We need you!"

Abby turned to Clarke, who'd come out around the counter, and thrust the supplies into her hands. She gestured over to Murphy and quickly ran over to Jackson, who led her back out of the Medbay. Murphy wondered who they could be running for and then realized that Emori still wasn't back. His stomach churned with worry.

"Hey."

He looked up to see Clarke grinning down at him. He couldn't help but offer a reluctant smile. "If it isn't the princess. Couldn't stay away, could you?"

"Oh, I tried," Clarke responded good-naturedly, setting down the supplies behind him. She gently pushed on one of his shoulders, and Murphy turned so that his back faced her. He felt her moment of shock when she saw his wounds, and then she recovered, preparing the antiseptic.

"Obviously not very hard," Murphy continued. "Not sure Bellamy would like that very much."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure Bellamy would be very upset if he found out about my _complete_ fascination with you."

"Watch it, Clarke. Better be careful, or I might think you have something resembling a sense of humor." Clarke responded by spreading some of the cream across the recent wounds, and Murphy blew out a long breath at the sting. She covered it with an adhesive bandage, and moved onto the other few that needed attention.

"Okay, well, I think that's all I-"

"_John!_" The shout came from out in the hallway, and even if it had been years since he'd heard it, he knew the voice like it was a part of himself.

"Emori!" Murphy slid off the cot and went as fast as he could toward the hallway. Clarke came up behind him, Murphy tensed for another altercation. But she only ducked under his arm and wound an arm around his waist, helping him to move quicker.

They pushed through the curtain, and Murphy saw Emori standing a few feet down the hallway, looking completely bewildered. One of her sleeves was torn, a thin line of blood running from her elbow where an IV might have been placed. She gripped a scalpel tightly in her good hand, the other arm pressed tightly against her stomach. She leaned heavily on the wall, and walked unsteadily.

"Emori!" Murphy shouted again, and pushed away from Clarke to stumble forward the last few steps to her.

"John?" Emori's voice was faint and weak, but when she turned to him, she was as vibrant as ever in his eyes. He pulled her to him, cupping her head against his chest. She clung to his arms, tearful laughs springing from her lips. Holding her tightly, feeling her warm against his skin… It was a heaven he thought he'd never reach again.

"I thought you were dead," Murphy said in a reverent whisper, pulling back to look at her face.

Emori's smile faltered. "I thought I was, too."

"But you're not. You're alive." Murphy said, pressing his forehead against hers. "I never thought I'd see you again."

Emori managed no more words, and Murphy noticed how waxen her skin was. She wilted in his arms, and Murphy could hardly hold her up in his weak state. "Emori? Emori!"

Clarke came over. She gently cupped Emori's face, took in her elbow. "She's still dehydrated. We need to get her hooked back up to an IV."

"I want to be with her." Murphy said firmly, making it clear that it was not a request.

Clarke nodded. "Of course."

Clarke hailed Abby, back from whatever emergency Jackson had called her to, and Abby suggested they keep the two of them in the Medbay, where they could be kept under careful observation for the next few days. Clarke had a guard carry Emori back into the Medbay after a moment of convincing Murphy to let her go, and helped Murphy back into the room herself.

Finally, both were situated on cots near the back, where it was quieter. Emori had an IV set up with fluids and nutrients. Both were given a pillow and blanket. Clarke hung a few curtains around them to give them a sense of privacy, and Murphy found that he was more grateful for that than he realized once the curtains were closed. After so long in seclusion, he wasn't used to so many eyes on him all at once, wasn't accustomed to having that many people breathing in the same room.

Every once in a while, Emori would stir uneasily, moaning softly in her sleep, and Murphy would reach over and touch her good hand. He never squeezed, never held, never grabbed. Only laid a gentle hand on top of hers. After a moment, her stirrings would stop and she would settle into a more peaceful sleep.

Murphy couldn't remember the exact moment that he'd fallen in love with her. From the first time they'd met out in the desert, he'd admired her. He'd respected her, partnered with her, even felt protective of her. Yes, they'd fooled around, but at first it hadn't felt like love. It had felt like connection. It had felt nice, being around someone that didn't hate him, for once.

He must have fallen for her slowly, one little piece at a time. When she kissed him on the docks of ALIE's island for trying to save her life. When they went all Bonnie and Clyde, robbing people on the road. When she came looking for him in Polis. When she was freed from the chip. When Emori thought she was going to be sacrificed in the radiation testing, and she begged Murphy to save himself.

At some point, Murphy realized that he cared more about her than he did about himself. And suddenly life became more about survival. It became dedicated to _her_ survival. Because what was the point in going on, in living, when there was nothing to live for? No love, no kindness, no companionship. He'd felt it before, he'd lived his whole life like that, and it was never going to be his fate again.

He put Emori before himself. Every time.

Murphy angled himself on the cot so that he could sleep facing her, and reached out one last time to touch her hand. He brushed her knuckles with his thumb, lightly, and started to pull back, but Emori's hand turned, her fingers swiftly entwining with his like second nature. Murphy smiled and closed his eyes, arm stretched over the gap between them like a bridge between worlds.

* * *

_It hurt. God, it hurt so much. And she just stood there, smiling, relishing his agony. Murphy let out a few pants, still breathless from his least scream. Ontari leaned down again, knife in hand, and pressed it flat against his forearm, sharp end digging into his skin. _

Please,_ He begged in his head, because he wasn't allowed to say such things out loud. _Please, no.

_Ontari grabbed the tip with her other hand and pressed down, into the soft flesh of his forearm. Then she pulled the blade down, slowly stripping the skin with one smooth motion. Murphy looked away, gritting his teeth through the pain. She was only going a few skin layers deep, and he'd endured worse in his two years here, so he was able to hold in his cries. _

_Murphy was chained to the wall in his cell, his arms lashed above his head. He was barely able to touch the ground with his toes, and his muscles were shaking from exhaustion. Ontari stripped six inches, and then stepped aside. She lifted the knife to his face and wiped it along his cheeks, spreading the blood like war paint under his eyes. _

"_So brave today," Ontari commented. "Why so quiet, John? I want to hear you sing." _

_John kept his gaze straight forward, knowing it would be a grave mistake to look her in the eyes. She stepped in front of him, and he closed his eyes. He felt the point of the knife against his bare stomach, and it slowly pressed harder against his skin. He knew she wanted him to open his eyes and look at her. He was just afraid of what would happen if he did. _

_The point of the knife dug in, and he felt it break the skin, sending a little trickle of blood running down his torso. It pushed a little further and Murphy opened his eyes involuntarily. Meeting his gaze, Ontari smiled widely. She stepped back, going over to the small fire they'd build in the corner of his cell. She pulled a metal rod out of the fire, one end wrapped in cloth so that it wouldn't burn her. _

_She walked slowly over, obviously adoring the wary look in Murphy's eye. She slunk over to him, pressing her body against his suggestively. Then she raised the rod, and Murphy felt the heat as it approached his skinned arm. _

NO!_ Part of him screamed silently. _Please, god, NO!

_Ontari saw the fear in his eyes. Loved it. Wanted more of it. And she pressed. Murphy couldn't help the scream that tore his throat raw. He couldn't help the way he thrashed against the bonds that held him. He couldn't help the tears that streamed down his face. _

_Ontari giggled, her other hand pressed against Murphy's chest. "Yes," She sighed blissfully. "That's it. I love your voice." Ontari reached up and kissed him, her lips hungry and possessive. Murphy tried to let her. Even if he couldn't respond in the way she wanted him to, he had to at least let her do it. But the pain in his arm wasn't going away, still felt like it was on fire, all the way through, so bad that his fingers were quaking, and he had to break away to cry out. _

_Ontari stepped back, and when he looked over at her, she looked furious. Really furious, in a way she hadn't been in a while. _

"_Fine, John." Ontari said, her voice ice cold. "You want it to be that way? You want the pain? Well, I'll give it to you." _

_She grabbed the knife off the floor and angrily dug into his other arm, skinning a strip of flesh quickly and viciously. Immediately, before Murphy could even register that pain, she forced the rod against it, eliciting another scream of agony. She grabbed him roughly, spinning him so that his back was facing her, and then repeated the process again and again. Murphy screamed until his voice failed, and it seemed that she was still not done. She turned him back around, and raised the knife to his cheek. _

"_Please," Murphy rasped. He hadn't planned to say anything, but the word burst from him, a plea he couldn't hold in anymore. "Please, Ontari, don't do it. I can't… Don't do it, I'm begging you. Please, stop." _

_The knife hovered by his face for a second longer, as Ontari stared into his eyes. Her expression revealed nothing, and she slowly stepped back. For a fleeting, idiotic moment, Murphy thought that maybe Ontari was taking mercy on him for once. Maybe she was showing her version of kindness, when she held herself back, just this once. _

_And then the knife lowered to her side, and in a cool, iron voice, Ontari asked, "Did you just give me and order, John?" _

_Murphy realized his error a second too late. "No. Please, I'm sorry. I won't do it again, I promise. Burn me again, please! Do whatever you want, I don't care. Just don't hurt her, please! Don't hurt Emori!" _

"_There you go again, giving me orders." Ontari said, throwing the knife to the ground with a clatter. "And don't you dare say that whore's name around me." _

_Murphy swallowed. "I'm sorry." His voice was broken, desperate. _

"_I don't think sorry's enough this time, John," Ontari said. "I'm getting tired of you pining after her." _

_She walked out of the cell, and whispered to one of the guards standing outside. The guard nodded once and disappeared down the hall. Towards Emori's cell. _

"_No. Please, NO! Ontari, I'm sorry, I'll do whatever you want me to do! Okay? I'll kiss you, I'll scream, I don't care! Please, Ontari, don't do this! I'm sorry! PLEASE DON'T DO THIS!" _

_Ontari scooped her knife off the ground, and walked up to him. She sliced the rope above his head so that he fell to his knees, hands still bound together. She gripped him by the hair, pulling his head up so his neck was exposed. "It's already being done." She whispered into his ear. _

"_No. No!" Murphy cried. _

_Suddenly, a scream came from down the hallway, followed by the sounds of fists hitting flesh. More broken cries, screams of pain. Murphy roared in anger and desperation and lunged for the door, but Ontari drove a boot onto his back, thrusting him into the ground. "I want you to hear this, John. Hear every second of her agonizing death. I want you to know that you did this to her." _

_Ontari dropped down on top of his back, straddling him. She wound her fingers into his hair, pulling his head back. She leaned down, whispering seductively into his ear. "I want you to know that you could have stopped it if you'd really wanted to." _

Murphy awoke to hands trying to hold him down, pressed down on his shoulders and leaning on his legs. There was something in his mouth and people were holding his head. Murphy looked up and saw the faces of grounders, holding knives and hammers and ready to beat him until he would submit to her will. Ready to drag him back there once they rendered him unconscious. Maybe Emori, too, once they realized she was alive.

Murphy roared and tore one arm out of the attacker's grip. He used the momentum to deliver a hard punch to the grounder holding his other arm, who stumbled back a few steps. Murphy rolled off the cot, twisting away from the grounders holding his legs. He landed in front of Emori, and attacked the grounder closest to her. The grounder threw a punch, and Murphy dodged it, ducking down and tackling the grounder around the middle. He began raining down punches on the grounder, who didn't even try to throw him off. He only lifted his hands to try and protect his face as Murphy attacked with vengeance.

He felt a grounder seize his arms and haul him up. With his arms by the grounder's waist, Murphy felt the handle of a knife on the grounder's belt. He grabbed it and lashed out as he yanked away from the grounder, catching it in the upper arm. The grounder clutched it's shoulder and backed off. Two more grounders grabbed him from behind, and a third stood in front of him, holding his wrists immobile.

He couldn't move. He was trapped. No matter how hard he thrashed, he couldn't throw them off. He couldn't let them take him back there. He had to protect Emori. Had to keep her safe. But how could he when he was stuck, when he couldn't _move_, when they had his arms and he couldn't get out and he couldn't get free-

"Murphy, stop!" The grounder in front of him snapped. "Focus on me, Murphy. It's just me. It's Bellamy!"

Bellamy? But they were grounders, they were attacking… They were coming after him and Emori… Murphy blinked a few times, and the image of a grimy grounder gripping his hands melted away, leaving a concerned Bellamy with hands locked around his wrists.

"C'mon, Murphy, it's just me. You're safe here, okay? Drop the knife. No one is trying to hurt you."

Murphy's hands went limp, and the knife slipped to the floor, landing by his feet with a clatter. Murphy looked around, and he saw six or seven cadet guards, not grounders. One of them was standing to side, hand pressed against a cut that was still leaking blood all over his uniform. Another was curled on the ground, while one of the guards tried to get a look at his beaten, bloody face.

"Oh, god," Murphy whispered. "I did this." He felt his knees go weak.

"Whoa, okay, okay." Bellamy caught him. "Stay with me, okay, Murphy? Hang in there."

He and two other guards helped get Murphy back on the cot. Murphy hissed as the dissolved adrenaline let him feel all the wounds and injuries he'd angered again. Bellamy reached over, tilting Murphy's head up to get a look at a new bruise on his jaw. Murphy pulled away.

"What happened?" He asked hoarsely. Bellamy received a glass of water from someone and handed it to Murphy, who took it and drank the whole glass as quickly as he could.

"Well, I was kind of hoping to ask you that." Bellamy said. "Someone thought you were having a seizure, and they looked in here and saw you thrashing all over, and somebody got the bright idea to try to hold you down before you hurt yourself. And then you woke up and starting going after people… and that's about when I got here. You kept yelling about grounders and Emori…"

Murphy nodded. "I saw grounders. I thought they were…"

"I get it, Murphy." Bellamy said. "Honestly, I don't blame you." He paused. "Just lay still, alright? You're never going to heal if you keep jumping all over the place."

Murphy nodded, laying back against the cot. As Bellamy left, Murphy looked over at Emori, who lay still with eyes open. She still looked weak and dazed, but she was aware enough to look worried for him. He offered a half-hearted, reassuring smile.

"I'm sorry if I scared you." Murphy murmured quietly.

Emori returned the smile and reached over with an open hand. Murphy met her, squeezing her fingers gently.

"As long as you're okay," Emori murmured. "Then I'll be fine."

Murphy slid off his cot and crossed to hers. Emori pushed herself up, making room for him beside her. Murphy slid an arm around her shoulders and Emori rested her head against him. Murphy closed his eyes, feeling peaceful and whole, with Emori finally back at his side.

* * *

Sorry if the ending is a little abrupt... I tend to write stories until the whump itch has been scratched so I have to try and cobble endings together when I want to post.

I've always thought Murphy and Emori's relationship was so cute in the show, and Murphy's a character that just doesn't get enough attention or sympathy from the other characters.

Thank you for reading, and let me know what you think! I always love hearing from you guys!

Cheers!


End file.
